


Noctis Anima

by I Frostmere (Frostmere71)



Category: World of Darkness (Games)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-02-07 23:13:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12851562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostmere71/pseuds/I%20Frostmere
Summary: WIP, Character Dev





	1. Take me to church

The cathedral was empty as the arch bishop lit the last of the candles at the altar. Others would leave this task to functionaries, he preferred to do it himself. It helped clear his mind after the long day. Behind him he heard the heavy iron bound doors of the cathedral creak open, he turned to see, who would come so late at night seeking succor. He rolled his eyes as he turned, parishioners could be so tedious sometimes.

Striding through the open doors was a young girl clad from head to toe in tight form hugging leather, her pale skin contrasted with her raven black hair, though it still carried a hint of the olive that marked her origins. Tendrils of inky black mist slowly closed the doors behind her and receded back under her hair. She strode confidently forward, every step seduction, the way she moved her hips, every pace and every movement highlighting the pleasant shape of her body, promising wicked delight and forbidden temptations. Her face was a picture of innocence in contrast. She couldn't be more than twenty, twenty two years of age. Each step her heeled boots clicked ominously on the marble floor. It was as if destiny was drawing inexorably closer. He noticed her eyes, they were blue grey, and burned with an inner fire, though it was cold, devoid of warmth. An errant lock had drifted across her face, whisper thin tendrils of that same darkness slipped from beneath her collar and hair to coax it back into place.

The realization wasn't hard. Backing towards the altar for confidence he cried out. "Begone from here whore of Satan, your kind has no business here!"

She smiled a little half smile, innocent, yet full of mischief, though it never touched her eyes. "Really Arch bishop. That won't work on me, besides your faith isn't really that strong is it. I thought your first question would be how am I walking on hallowed ground." She chuckled a sweet seductive chuckle, but like her eyes it was cold. She looked down as she slipped off her gloves and tossed them on a pew. Her immaculate nails were long and painted a soft blue tonight. She ran the tip of one lightly along the next pew she passed, drawing a curling shaving from the mahogany as it effortlessly gouged a line in the aged wood.

"How? What? W-why?" The arch bishop stammered.

"Why because I have faith my dear arch bishop, more than you apparently." She unzipped the form hugging jacked low enough to show the curve of her pale breasts and lifted a silver Celtic cross from between them so he could see it. 

"What do you want hell bitch?" 

She lifted a finger slowly to her lips, shushing him as she drew near the altar. She slowly knelt and bowed her head a moment. The arch bishops eyes grew wide and he almost chocked as he watched. Very slowly she lifted the cross to her lips kissing it lightly and slowly stood, turning towards him. "It was my fathers."

She sat on the first pew and patted the seat next to her. "Come sit with me Arch bishop, to answer your question. I wish to talk for now."

The arch bishop stank of fear and sweat, he tried to look fierce as he stammered. "Y-you have f-faith? What concubine of Beelzebub, are you here for confession?"

This time she laughed again, from the heart, it was a sweet and beautiful sound, still cold and icy, but there was something alluring about it. "One such as me," She smiled as she said it perfect white teeth glinting in the candlelight, "Well, lets just say I have no need of the sacraments, no practical use anyway. And what is the point of empty adherence to form arch bishop? Again, come sit."

She waited, as despite himself, he stepped slowly closer, the war in his own heart evident, but eventually he sat next to her, shaking visibly.

"Tell me Arch Bishop, do you believe in providence?"

He fell onto the seat next her. "Providence Archbishop, Providence. Do not think I am not a young lady of faith. Honestly.." She smirked slightly. "I have had centuries to think about it."

He stared at her, his expression completely dumbfounded.

"Oh come now, archbishop, were you not called to your position. Do you not feel like it is what God had in store for your life. You see my dear archbishop," She ran a nail slowly down his cheek drawing a line of blood as he sat transfixed staring at her eyes. "God has decreed that I should be a servant of the devil, would be a good daughter of the church if I was not the best damn servant of darkness I could be? I am simply following my calling and giving my all in service to God." 

There was the roar of engines outside the chapel.

"Oh dear archbishop" Alexys uttered the words softly pulling her lips close to his ear, heavy with mock sincerity. "I really didn't want it to end like this."

Her hand slipped around to cradle his neck drawing him in close, dry lips brushing softly across the skin of his neck. She could feel him trembling, the stink of fear rose from him like a tangible cloud. His breath was short and shallow, she could hear it stick in his throat, hear his pulse race. She parted her lips slowly, let the tips of ivory fangs brush against his skin. Ever so slowly she pushed them against the warm flesh of his neck, felt the sharp pop as the punctured his skin. The warm rush of vitae filled her mouth and washed down her throat. He began to struggle, her nails pierced the skin of his neck grating against the bone at the base of his skull. Her grip held him.like iron, tendrils of inky black snaked from under her hair, her sleeve, out from under the pew and coiled around him holding him fast as she drank every drop. 

She stood slowly, the tendrils releasing their grip on his limp form. With a thud the corpse hit the floor, the last light of life fading from his eyes as he stared at the ceiling.

"Know archbishop, your sacrifice is not in vain, but i will give you one last gift before I depart. Those who follow me, would make you like them. I will spare you that existence." She moved faster than the eye could follow, taking the two heavy burning oil lamps from by the altar, she turned both in the body. Oil soaked into his cassock, flames slowly starting to take hold at the edges of the heavy fabric. 

"Oil does not burn well without a wick, yet another service you offer," she spoke softly but the sound fell on dead ears as the first hints of burning flesh began to creep into the air. Moving with the same inhuman speed she slipped out through the rectory, out the side of the old cathedral, her bike was where she left it, black, sleek, and far heavier than her frame would suggest she could handle. 

With a loud roar the engine leaped to life, a tendril of that same inky blackness already forming to snake out as she tore out into the street. With a flick it threw three of the bikes parked in front of the church across the street. She forced the front wheel down by main strength as the hit the throttle, shouts of anger, the sharp snap of bullets overhead, followed by the loud sound of gunfire were left in her wake. Her inky extension slid mockingly back under her hair as it whipped in the wind. She only had moments before they gave chase.


	2. Every Funeral has a wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chase

Keeping her frame low over the fuel tank she tore through the night, the rapid flicker of the street lights overhead creating a strobe as she recklessly leaned hard on the bike and moved to the wrong side or the road, against the flow of traffic. The city was as quiet as a city could be, enough traffic to suit her purpose. She felt the fresh vitae flow through her body, willing it to her muscles her reflexes sharp, her vision and reactions almost precognitive. Weaving in and out of the traffic, horns blaring, inches between success and disaster, the sound of tortured metal and screams lost to hear ears as one of her pursuers tore into an oncoming car.

The gunfire was sporadic, spray and pray, no real danger or issue, inky tendril flicking out from her cuff of her jacket to wrap around the light post on the corner, she leaned the bike down hard, her heel driving into the ground, her hip protesting at the abuse, rubber smoke filled the air as she took an impossible corner into the side street. The force of her maneuver dragging the pole over and into the street, another pursuer down as he slammed into the ruined post. 

Three bikes tore out into the street in front of her, that tendril crushed the front wheel and suspension of the first. The rider's inertia carrying him across the street to slam heavily into the brickwork of the building opposite, cracking bricks and causing the wall to sag. A bullet tore through her shoulder, sparks kicking up as the others tore through the fiberglass and deflected off the metal frame of her bike. She snarled and she pulled a pistol beneath the cowling, phosphorous tearing through the biker, leaving horrible smoking wounds. No time to reload. kicking back a gear the engine screamed as she hit powerband and had to force the front wheel of her bike down. she could see the parking station ahead. Another round tore through her thigh. "I'm going to need more fucking blood at this rate"

Hard on the brakes, she dropped the bike on its side crouched low and surfing as it skittered across the road and under the boomgate. Sparing a glance back as the momentum died. "Five" She jerked the bike upright and hit the throttle again as her pursuers crashed though the boomgate. hard as she dare she raced the bike through the structure, knee brushing the ground, grazing the leather as she circled upward through the garage to the roof of the parking garage.


End file.
